


Mutare Wallflower, Agent of the Foundation

by Anime_PJ



Category: RWBY, SCP Foundation
Genre: Foundation Agent OC, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anime_PJ/pseuds/Anime_PJ
Summary: Containment breaches can be a bitch, especially when the escapees decide to flee to just about every corner of Remnant. Mutare Wallflower, an agent with a particular set of skills and some friends in high places, is brought to Vale on the hunt for one of the escaped anomalies and finds himself working at his old school.
Relationships: Cinder Fall/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Trailer

Mutare Wallflower finished reading the reports and put them down on the wooden desk in front of him. "Sounds like my boy, all right," he said to the lion Faunus sitting across from him.

"I … I was afraid you'd say that," said Leonardo Lionheart nervously. Nervousness was his default state.

Lionheart was a middle-aged man with greying tan hair and a big beard, brown eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. Mutare was never able to tell whether his skin was tanned or really was that colour (it definitely wasn't _fake_ tan, or else he would have been orange). He wore a brown greatcoat with a matching mantle, which had cross emblems on each side, a white dress shirt under his coat, a western neck-tie, dark brown slacks, and dress shoes. He also carried a pocket watch. He also had a lion tail, though that was unclear in his current position.

"It's never pleasant, having to deal with one of these things, but be glad you called me," said Mutare. "Things would've gotten a lot worse if you didn't."

Mutare was younger than Lionheart, though still in his late thirties – 38 or 39, though he himself wasn't sure. Birthdays weren't exactly a big thing where he was raised. He had pale skin, a result of quite a lot of time spent inside, short, straight, dark brown hair that was greying prematurely into a more silvery grey than most, and bright blue eyes that had long since lost their twinkle. He was well-built. He wore an olive drab, short-sleeved jacket that was long enough to come to just above his knees, a deep sky blue shirt that could be seen through the open jacket, a dark khaki belt, antique white trousers, and sea green boots. There was no current need for any accessories.

"I know," said Lionheart. "I'd have just preferred it if the damned thing had never come near here at all."

"Life would be simpler if they kept to less populated areas, true. It'd make _my_ job a hell of a lot easier, too." He stood up. "Rest assured, the problem will be dealt with. Try to get some rest, Leo. The stress is gonna send your hair the same way mine's going."

Lionheart chuckled without enthusiasm. "You're younger than me, surely you wouldn't mind _looking_ it for a change."

Mutare laughed, a bit more genuine than Lionheart's. "True, true. Not even forty yet, I don't think, and I'm already turning into a real silver fox." He turned around and started walking for the door. "Be seeing you, Leo, though hopefully under different circumstances next time."

"Good luck!" Lionheart called after him.

* * *

Mutare worked his way through the foliage as the trees of the woods began to get further and further apart with each step. He knew he was coming to a clearing. He stopped briefly, making sure his weapon was ready to go if things escalated, and then carried on. He reached the clearing and walked out from behind the trees without a care in the world.

The reek of rotting flesh hit his nostrils like a truck.

There was plenty of red mixed in with the green of the grass, and that red was flowing from the corpses of several dead people, humans and Faunus alike. None of the bodies were intact; all of them had pieces missing. Not cleanly cut off, but ripped and torn and bitten. There were no leftover heads, which came as no surprise to Mutare, given who exactly he was dealing with here. The cause of this carnage sat in the centre of it.

The giant was about 8 feet tall with grossly disproportionate bodily features. It had a slightly pointed, balding head with a large, rounded chin and jaw, a bulbous nose, and dark, sunken eyes. It was fat but clearly had a fair bit of muscle mass underneath it. The forearms were muscular and dangerous-looking, with fists that were almost a solid foot breadthwise. Though the feet were large, they were only large by human/Faunus standards, and for the creature itself were actually incredibly tiny in comparison to the rest of its body. It skin was dark and scarred; a few of the scars were put there by Mutare himself in the past.

" _Bonjour_ , Fernand," Mutare greeted the giant.

It looked up from the gory mess in front of it and made eye contact with him. "Ah, Mutare, _mon amie_!" he exclaimed happily. Even though he spoke, his teeth, bloody and with bits of flesh stuck between them hideously, never parted. "So nice to see you! I was just having myself a _petit pique-nique_. Would you care to join me?"

" _Je suis désolé_ , Fernand, maybe another time." He was lying through his teeth, something which 082 here was very familiar with yet always unable to recognise. "Had your fill of the outside world yet?"

" _Non_ ," Fernand shook his head. "I would like to spend some more time in my _magnifique_ garden, if you wouldn't mind."

Mutare sighed. "I really wish I didn't mind, Fernand, but we both know you're self-aware enough to at least know what your situation is. I remember the little poetry reading you did for Dr Bernstein. If you come quietly, I'll put in a good word and get you some more writing supplies. Wouldn't that be nice? Your first poem was good, but like you said, it was your first. Doesn't it sound nice to refine those skills a bit?"

" _Merci_ ," Fernand thanked him. His expression had turned sad the second his little poetry endeavour came up. "But I shall have to decline, _mon amie_. I am enjoying myself."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

He took out a large object that looked like the handle of a knife if it was on a sword instead. He clicked a button and numerous weapons, melee and otherwise, sprang out, so many that it shouldn't have been physically possible. And it wasn't. Like Fernand, this object was anomalous. Mutare was the only one with permission to carry it.

He grabbed the handle of a big war hammer, and the rest of the weapons, as well as the giant knife handle he had initially picked out, seemed to roll up into each other until nothing was left but the hammer. Mutare brandished it threateningly.

" _Pardon_ , big guy," he said. "But you're going back, one way or another."

Fernand let out a yell that sounded more like a roar and charged. Mutare met the charge head-on, letting out only the small grunts that came with wielding the hammer. Fernand's overly long arms reached out to grab him, his jaws open and ready to accept this fresh meat, but Mutare swung the hammer in a wide arc and hit one of Fernand's hands. The giant's hand bounced off the hammer and threw Fernand off his balance. Then, as he was tilting to the side, Mutare swung the hammer again and nailed him right in the head, sending him flying off to the side and sliding along the grass, bringing up dirt behind him like it was dust.

He got up, shaking his head, which was bleeding, and roared again. This time, however, he was more cautious, keeping back and trying to circle Mutare. He was looking for a moment of weakness or some sort of opening.

 _One good solid hit more should do it,_ Mutare thought. Despite his size and diet, Fernand was biologically human, and the Foundation had never unlocked his Aura for him or anything, so there was only so much he can take. _I just need to be able to land it._

He continued to watch Fernand, legs squatted, ready to jump to action at any moment. They were in this stalemate for a few minutes before Mutare realised Fernand wouldn't be the first to attack. As long as Mutare had his guard up, Fernand wasn't going to risk anything, so _he_ would have to make the first move this time.

He took a deep breath, then went for it. He ran at Fernand, roaring out a wordless battle cry, which, just as he'd wanted, prompted Fernand to do the same. As the giant neared him, Mutare pressed a button on the hammer's handle, and it suddenly shrank back into just a handle, as it had been at the start of the fight. He then used his forward momentum to role underneath Fernand's legs, the giant's disproportionately small feet making it easier to fit between his legs. He turned around and pressed another button on the handle that brought the hammer back.

Fernand turned around, confused, and was met with a second hammer strike directly to the face, which sent his body spinning. He span a few times, stopped, and for a moment Mutare thought the giant was still conscious. Fernand blinked a few times … then his eyes rolled back and he fell, making a dull _thud_ sound as his body hit the dirt.

With Fernand down, Mutare sheathed his weapon. He took his scroll out and hit one of the speed dials. "It's Agent Wallflower. I found 082. He's down for the count." He rattled off the coordinates of their location. "I require an extraction team with a transport unit and some restraints big enough for 082 to fit into." With the official part of the call over, he went more casual as he spoke to the person on the other end next. "How many more of the fucking things breached containment this time?" He didn't like the answer. "'Could've been worse,' my ass! If even a single one breaks out, I consider that too damn many." A sigh. "I know some of this shit can't exactly be contained permanently without a miracle, but good God … Yeah, yeah, I'm fine … Might just need to take a few days, couple weeks, or something to myself. Job's getting to me again." A pause as the person on the other end spoke, then a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right, it'd be more concerning if I was totally fine the whole damn time. Huh? Yeah, okay, you take care now." He hung up.

Working for the Foundation could be incredibly stressful, and that was on the _good_ days, like this one. With the recent containment breach, there had been precious few of these good days for a couple of weeks. Mutare could only hope they'd be able to get everything back in their cells relatively soon.

Like his contact on the other end of the scroll said, it really _could_ have been worse.

 _We're just really fucking lucky 682 didn't decide to join the jail spring,_ he thought, shuddering. If that fucking lizard got out again …

His scroll rang in his pocket. He took it out and looked at who was calling, then answered immediately.

"Hello, Professor Ozpin," he greeted.

As the call went on, a frown grew on his face. It was good news and bad news. The good news was that it would appear he had just been given a tip-off on one of the escapees. The bad news was that if that was true, he was going straight from one fight and into another.

 _Looks like I'm going to Vale,_ he thought.


	2. V-001 C-001

Mutare sat stiffly on the airship. He could see the darkness of the night, lit up only by the stars and by Remnant's half-shattered moon, through the windows. Almost everybody else on the ship was sleeping. But Mutare dared not sleep.

Sleeping while others were around was one of the rules he had to follow for the Foundation to continue allowing him to act as an agent.

He had read through the in-flight magazine several times. It was boring shit.

His eyelids were heavy, but he would not give in.

When the holographic image of one of the ship's crew came up, he felt relief flood through him. It wouldn't be long now.

"Attention all passengers," the hologram said. The light of the hologram woke some, the sound of the voice woke up others. Others still slept. "We will be landing in the Kingdom of Vale within the next ten minutes. Please gather all your belongings and prepare to disembark."

Mutare didn't gather anything, for all he needed was the weapon strapped to his belt, the Foundation-funded credit card in his breast pocket, and a few emergency clothing accessories he kept in a small bag.

The airship landed, and the crew went around waking up those passengers still sleeping. Mutare was disembarking before most of them had even risen from their seats. He ignored the "Thank you for flying with us" spouting staff members as he went. The only thing on his mind right now was sleep. The escaped SCP could fucking wait. Not picky, he walked over to the first motel he saw, a shabby-looking place, and walked right over to the front desk.

"A room for two nights," he said.

The receptionist, some bored-looking 20-something, looked up slowly from the desk. There was a clear exaggeration in the tiredness of the movements. "That'll be a hundred lien," he said in a long drawl.

Mutare paid with the credit card – even given the blatant extortion of charging that much for a crappy place like this, he knew the Foundation could afford it and wouldn't care – and took the key he was given, then started walking to the rooms before the slow asshole could even offer to have somebody show him the way. He found his room, went inside, locked the door behind him, and threw his back down on the bed.

Then he undressed until he was in the buff.

Now he was rooting through his bag, digging past the little pieces of clothing until he found what he was looking for. They were small capsules, incredibly powerful sleep aids that the Foundation had created and were often needed to get any real rest in this line of work, which he popped into his mouth, chewed up, and swallowed without ever going for any water. He then threw his bag onto the floor and climbed into the bed, which felt like it had been given the barest minimum of maintenance over the years.

He was asleep in a few seconds.

Nightmares of things neither humans nor Faunus was ever meant to comprehend haunted him through the night.

* * *

Mutare would be overjoyed if he never saw another fucking airship again.

He thought that every single time he travelled. He sat on another airship, this time in the early hours of the morning.

The ship was landing, and they were going through the whole "Thank you for flying with us" thing again. And again, Mutare ignored it and just left as soon as he was able.

There weren't as many passengers around him this time. Not many people were going to Beacon Academy the day before the next school year started. He moved with a purpose. He knew exactly where he was going. Even though he hadn't attended this school in about 17, maybe 18 years, he felt he could still navigate the place blindfolded. He certainly remembered where the headmaster's office was, which was where he was heading.

He got into the elevator and went up. He came out in a large office with giant clockwork parts moving around above him.

There were two individuals already there, a man and a woman.

"Hello," Mutare greeted them both out of necessity. The elevator should have gotten their attention, but he had to be sure.

The man, who was sitting at his desk, was Professor Ozpin. He was a middle-aged man tousled silver hair and thin brown eyes with thin black eyebrows over them. He had a light complexion and sharp facial features. He wore round, shaded glass spectacles and a small, purple, cross-shaped pin on a cowl he wore around his neck. He had an unzipped black suit worn over a dark green, buttoned vest and green shirt, long, dark green trousers, and black trouser shoes.

The woman, who was standing just beside Ozpin's desk, was Glynda Goodwitch. She was a middle-aged woman (not that anyone with any degree of sanity would describe her as such while on the same _continent_ as her) who had very light blonde hair tied back in a bun with a curl hanging down the right side of her face. Her eyes were bright green and had a pair of thin ovular glasses worn over them. She had dangling teal earrings that matched the hanging pendant on her collar. Her clothing consisted of a long-sleeved, white, pleated top that had a wide keyhole neckline which gave a rather appreciated view and gauntlet cuffs that flared in pleasts at the wrists, a black, high-waisted pencil skirt with brown buttons, black-brown stockings, a pair of black boots with bronze heels, and a cap. The cape was the highlight. It was black on the outside and purple on the inside and was stylised to end in flames and arrows, with a row of diamond-shaped bronze beads on the back. Above these beads was an emblem that resembled a tiara.

The fact that her weapon was a riding crop she called _The Disciplinarian_ had given people many a fantasy, Mutare among them.

"Hello, Mr Wallflower," Ozpin said without so much as blinking. "Would you like something to drink while we talk?"

Mutare walked forward and allowed his long jerboa tail, which he'd found sprouted from his lower back this morning, to wave around freely. It was long and brown and had a tuft of fur at the end. It was much more comfortable to let these things free, so he did so whenever he could afford to, whenever it wouldn't go against the Foundation's rules to do so.

"Some of that cocoa would be lovely," he said. The smell from Ozpin's mug was intoxicating. "It's nice to see you two." He tried to smile. It always felt so artificial when he wasn't laughing at something.

They both smiled back at him, and Ozpin pushed a mug of cocoa across the table to him. "It's always a pleasure to see you, too, Mr Wallflower," he said. "I only wish you would sometimes drop by when it isn't work-related."

"Can't afford to, Professor Ozpin," said Mutare. "Even when we're currently 'on vacation,' my co-workers and I are _always_ considered on the clock. The most I've ever gone without being needed for something is about a week, by my reckoning. That's excepting my years attending here as a student, of course. Even the Foundation knows how vital Huntsman training is for our line of work."

"They surely can't expect you to operate at peak condition with that sort of policy," Glynda said with distaste. She wouldn't be the only one – most who knew of the Foundation, even if they only knew the bare minimum like these two, held a dislike for its methods. Glynda particularly didn't like Atlas' militaristic methods, so the Foundations damn near sacrificial treatment of those who worked for it would probably give her an aneurysm if she knew the full details, Mutare reflected.

"Peak condition isn't considered necessary," he said. "It's damn near impossible, to tell you the truth. Peak _mental_ condition is, anyway. The guys up top actually stopped mental health treatment for us workers when the _doctors_ kept committing suicide." Fearing he might start saying more than he was strictly allowed to among friendly faces, Mutare cleared his throat. "So, you spotted one of the anomalies I listed in that message I sent out?"

"Indeed we did," Ozpin confirmed. He pushed some photographs across the table. "These were captured on security cameras two nights ago. I had the footage wiped for you, to save your people the trouble."

"I'll be sure to mention you saving us a job to my superiors," Mutare said as he examined the photos. _Oh yeah, that's him_ , he thought. "You headmasters love being dramatic, don't you? Leo was making me read stuff right off his desk rather than just letting me see it on a fucking computer screen, too."

"We need to have our fun somehow," Ozpin jested lightly.

"This 'anomaly,'" Glynda cut in. "Does it present a danger to civilians? We could have the area cleared before you go in, if so. We don't want people getting hurt over this."

"No need," said Mutare. "1360 is pretty docile so long as nobody gets in its way. It can't speak, but it can understand and communicate. I'll give him a chance to come quietly, but given how insistent he was on escaping, I doubt that'll get me anywhere …" He grimaced. "… You guys might want to prepare for some collateral property damage, though. Unlike the last one I dealt with, this one knows how to fight properly. Again, it's distinctly unlikely it'll attack anyone but me, and the Foundation will compensate Vale for any damage caused, but I feel I should forewarn you of the possibility."

"I could go with you if you think you'll need backup," Glynda offered.

"No," he said immediately. "You all know very well that I'm not allowed to get you involved with that side of things. My permissions go as far as letting you know the Foundation exists as a courtesy because you, too, are aiming to protect the world at large. The only reason you've even been allowed pictures and descriptions is because we want these things re-contained as soon as possible." He downed the rest of his cocoa and stood up. "I'll be on my way to do just that to this one. I'll send you a message when I have it, and I'll see you whenever I see you."

"Before you go," Ozpin cut in as he was about to turn and leave, "would you mind returning here after you have made your capture? There is something else I would like to discuss with you if you have the time."

"Sure," Mutare agreed readily. He grinned a little bit. "Anything to keep me away from Dr Bright for a few more minutes." He nodded his head to both of them. "See you both soon. Hopefully." He turned and walked away. As he got into the elevator and pressed _down_ , he tucked his tail back into his trousers.

_So fucking uncomfortable,_ he thought, sighing.

* * *

_Yeah, I figured that's what this place would turn out to be …_ Mutare thought as he entered the abandoned warehouse he had seen his quarry entering in those photographs Ozpin had given him. On the wall was a logo, the subject of his thoughts. It was a circle outlined with black, and on the inside, on the right, was what appeared to be a bird's head which curved around, thinning out as it went down and become just another part of the outline at the bottom, and came back up on the left as what looked like it might have been a wing. In some of the negative space were the initials A.R.

_Anderson Robotics._

These guys were decades ahead of Atlas in terms of technology, and nobody knew how. Their products were so unnaturally advanced they were considered anomalous by the Foundation and, as such, their creations were deemed in need of containment within their facilities.

_Looks like 1360 followed protocol and came home,_ Mutare thought as he stepped through the warehouse. _Too bad for him that this place looks like they packed up a_ long _time ago … Still, I'll have to make sure this place is watched once I'm done. If anyone comes back, we might be able to put this Anderson Robotics thing to an end at long last._ Life was rarely that easy, _especially_ working for the Foundation, but small, optimistic thoughts like that were all that kept most Foundation workers sane.

"Sane" is a somewhat relative term. Anyone who willingly worked for the Foundation had to have at least _one_ screw loose, in Mutare's experience.

Then there were people like Dr Clef and Dr Bright. They had _all_ the screws loose.

He moved forward into the warehouse. It didn't take him long to find his quarry. As he had suspected, the android was just sitting there, waiting, waiting for a creator that Mutare doubted would ever return for it. SCP-1360 was an articulate, fully-animated android that stood at around 4'5". Two small, white PMMA circles were placed on the front of its head where the eyes would be on any living thing. As the word "android" would imply, this thing was composed almost entirely of metal, but its outer layer was covered with a black fabric of unidentifiable origin that Mutare knew from past experiences was capable of stitching itself back together if damaged. The serial number #031 was sewn in red fabric on its left arm.

Mutare approached it from the front. He had never been sure whether his Semblance affected an artificial being such as this since it never seemed to react to _anyone's_ presence until they tried to communicate with it. Its response was usually writing, as it was incapable of speech, or attempting to escape.

And this one was an absolute _bastard_ to keep contained when escape was on its mind. Anderson Robotics had programmed combat capabilities into it, and they'd done a damn good job.

Yet Mutare was confident that he could handle it.

"Hey, One-Three-Sixty," he said as he approached the android as non-threateningly as possible. "So you made it back, huh?"

1360 nodded.

"Good for you," Mutare went on. "But where is everybody? Shouldn't they have been waiting for you?" 1360 gave no visual response. "I think if they were going to come back for you, they would have by now. Why not come back with me? The Foundation didn't treat you _too_ badly, did they?" Again, no visual response. "Coming with me would be a lot better for you than sitting here and waiting to rust, One-Three-Sixty, and you know I'm going to try and take you back regardless. So why not make my job a bit easier on me, huh?"

1360 moved. It got into a combat stance.

Mutare sighed. "So be it."

Mutare darted forward and unhooked his weapon, _Anomalous Death_ , from his belt. He flipped the switch, allowing all of the weapons that shouldn't have been able to fit inside that small knife handle-like thing to emerge, and selected his choice to start this fight with: a large sickle which crackled with electricity from the Dust it was infused with. He swung the sickle at 1360 with expert precision, but the android still dodged it by bending all the way backwards at the knees.

Then 1360 sprang back up as quickly as it had bent down, and it jumped and span around, extending a leg to kick Mutare in the back of the head. The blow connected as Mutare was turning around to block, sending him spinning around, but he managed to maintain his standing position. It may have knocked him off balance, but his Aura was still protecting him from any damage, so there wasn't that woozy feeling that usually comes with a piece of metal ramming into the side of your skull like that.

For several moments, the combatants just stared at each other, daring the other to make the next move.

1360 eventually took the risk. It knelt and sprang upwards in a jump intended to take it over the top of Mutare's head, but Mutare turned around as it leapt, swung the sickle upwards so that the blade was facing behind him, and successfully hooked it under 1360's armpit, cutting away some of that strange fabric in the process. The Dust in the sickle immediately started electrocuting the android, causing it to spasm a bit but otherwise showing no real effects. Mutare then swung the sickle downwards, slamming 1360 into the floor, cracking it around the android. He then pulled the sickle back, turned it around, and raised it over his head intending to stab the blade directly into 1360's chest – the android's self-repair function would stop the damage from being permanent.

But 1360 took out a handgun it had been hiding somewhere on its person.

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

Three bullets impacted Mutare's Aura, causing him to stumble back, and when he recovered himself, he immediately rolled to the side as more shots came at him.

_BLAM! BLAM!_

1360 was back on its feet now. It was programmed for both armed and unarmed combat, but Mutare would have preferred it if it had remained unarmed. As long as he had a weapon and it didn't, he had some kind of advantage, no matter how well-programmed the fucking thing was. He moved, keeping low, around the boxes and shelves of the warehouse. If he could somehow get behind it, he might be able to surprise it …

An explosion of wood prompted Mutare to duck as one of the boxes just ahead of him splintered and flew everywhere. The android's hand withdrew. It was hitting boxes blind. It knew he was here, but not precisely where he was.

Mutare stayed near to the floor. This was good. If it hit another box, he could get some idea of which direction it was likely going in. Once he knew that he could plan a sneak attack, and if that failed … well, he would just have to improvise. The simple truth of the matter was that even the best-laid plans tended to go awry when one of these anomalies was involved.

_Smash!_

The box directly above Mutare's head exploded and rained splinters all over him. He didn't move a muscle, not to so much as draw in a sharp breath. He stayed still. The faintest of footsteps could be heard, now behind him.

Taking that as his cue, he got up in a crouch and moved forward slowly. Stealth was nothing new; it was something he had to do a lot when travelling between the Kingdoms without transport, though his Semblance usually helped with that side of things. Though he was still doubtful his Semblance could affect a machine such as this, he was still damning his own inability to attack a sentient life form without at least giving it a chance to surrender. He'd lost count of how many fights he'd gotten into that could have been avoided if he'd just jumped the fucker without drawing attention to himself.

He sneaked around the box and faced the direction he knew the android to be in. He was met with a pair of legs directly in front of him. Turning his gaze upwards, he came face to face with SCP-1360 once more.

"Fuck," said Mutare, then he flew backwards as 1360 backhanded him upwards.

He hit the wall on the other side of the room, cracking the stone around him at the point of impact. Grunting, he stepped away.

_BLAM! BLAM!_

One shot hit him, and the other missed as he was moving out of the way. His Aura was still holding up. _He's got to run out of bullets soon,_ Mutare reasoned. _He was programmed to return here, not gather arms. Odds are he came by the gun purely by chance and didn't have the opportunity to get an abundance of ammo._ It wasn't even that the firearm was particularly dangerous; it was only a handgun, and his Aura was tanking it well. The problem would arise if 1360 realised this, which it probably would since it wasn't stupid, and decided to save that last bullet for when Mutare's Aura went down. Without that to protect him …

… well, one good headshot and his brains would be painting the walls.

Just as he'd predicted, the gunshots stopped at that point. Whether that was because 1360 had run out of ammo or had realised how useless the gun was at the moment was unclear, but Mutare thought the latter. One significant rule for this line of work was _always_ assuming the worst-case scenario until absolutely proven otherwise.

He grabbed his weapon, which he had taken out of its sickle form to make it easier to sneak around, and flipped the switch to make his selection. _Anomalous Death_ transformed into a shotgun, and Mutare stood up, turning around to face 1360 as it came at him. Without a second of hesitation, he raised the gun and fired, the blast hitting 1360 in the face and sending it flying backwards in a backflip motion. It didn't stay down for long, its "face," for lack of a better term, stitching itself back together as it stood up. Mutare had already reached it by the time it found its feet again and, holding the shotgun like a club, he swung it into the right side of the android's head. It careened off to the left, smashing through several rows of crates as it went.

_This is getting me fucking nowhere,_ Mutare thought as he moved in its direction, determined not to give it so much as a second of prep time.

He was a bit too late.

It launched itself from the pile it had landed in and tackled him to the ground. Mutare felt the press of a gun barrel against his forehead and moved instinctively, grabbing 1360's arm and violently jerking it to the side. The gunfire and the floor now had a bullet lodged in it. Mutare heaved all his body weight to one side, sending 1360 rolling off of him. Both of them got back up just as quickly as each other.

They stared at one another. It was intense despite the android's lack of expression.

Then Mutare had a brainwave.

He raised his shotgun again, and 1360 dodged to the side just as he took a shot. Just as Mutare had planned. He fired off once more to send the android a bit further away.

Then he started fiddling with his weapon, hitting the button that transformed it back into its handle form. He had only a limited amount of time to make his selection, and he knew it. He heard 1360's footsteps, quick yet somehow heavy-footed, coming up behind him as _Anomalous Death_ made its transformation into a flamethrower. The tank of the flamethrower had a strange blue glow to it.

Mutare spun himself around and held down the trigger. The blue-white flames that shot out of the flamethrower hit P.S.H.U.D. #31 as it was about a foot away from him, gun drawn to press right up against his head. That was the one problem with Aura – it acted as a sort of forcefield, but if something like a gun was pressed right up against the skin, there was precious little it could do. Fortunately, the flamethrower, which was infused with ice Dust, drove it back. What began as a fast stumble backwards slowed down very quickly. The joints of the android's body parts creaked as they stiffened and froze. It slowed and slowed … and then went still.

Even after it stopped moving, Mutare held the ice thrower on it for at least another minute. He didn't want to take the chance that it was feigning.

"Cool off," he said as he finally stopped firing, and felt mildly ashamed of himself.

Just as soon as he became sure 1360 wasn't going to be moving for a while, he took out his scroll and dialled the only number that got used with any degree of frequency. It was the same one he'd dialled after dealing with Fernand the Cannibal. "It's Agent Wallflower," he said. "I managed to track down One-Three-Sixty. I'm gonna need an extraction team and a small M.T.F. for transport purposes. How soon can you get them here?" He listened to the reply. "All right, I'll wait. I'll keep him topped up on ice." The person on the other end spoke again. "Yeah, I froze the sucker. Just need to make sure he doesn't melt before he's back in containment." They spoke again. "Okay. See you."

He dragged over a crate that he hadn't smashed during the fight and sat on it until the extraction team arrived. He only had to re-ice 1360 once during that time.

* * *

Exiting the elevator in Ozpin's office again, Mutare was spared having to grab anyone's attention when Ozpin spoke. "How did it go?" he asked. Only Ozpin was in there this time.

"Well enough," said Mutare. "May've caused a bit of property damage inside the warehouse, but I doubt the owners will care, it's been left like that for so long."

"That's good news. At least there shouldn't be any complaints about the damage."

"The Foundation's thoughts exactly. It's not like we're hurting for money, but any excuse to not fork out to civvies. So, what did you want to speak to me about?"

"I have a proposition for you and your people. When you came to Beacon as a student all those years ago, you acted as a … liaison of sorts between the Foundation and my faction, though of course, neither of us was particularly forthcoming with information. I would like you to act as such again, though this time I hope for there to be more trust between us."

"That's gonna be a tall order," Mutare said carefully. "One that'll need reasoning behind it. My superiors might just order the memories of everyone in your group wiped of our existence if I go to them with this request without any compelling reason they should consider it. If they think you're digging for info … well, it's best not to think about it."

"I didn't expect they would just roll over and say yes," Ozpin said flatly. "To provide the reason, I'm going to be perfectly upfront with you, Mr Wallflower. I think the individual my faction opposes is getting involved with these anomalous objects and creatures which your people are so heavily involved with. I have reason to believe that something big is in the works. A storm is on the horizon, you might say, and I think that both my people and the Foundation would benefit from some cooperation this time around."

Mutare looked thoughtful. _The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence,_ he pondered. _That fucking containment breach leaving a bunch of sites lacking prisoners …_ The truth was that the containment breach couldn't _not_ have been organised by some third party. The Foundation was trying to hide it by limiting the leak of information, but being one of the most valued agents they had meant Mutare quite often got more information than the other staff. They had initially suspected the Serpent's Hand given that group's worship of the abnormal, but if Ozpin was right … "Of course, me being a liaison would mean I'd have to be around quite a bit," he said, trying to get away from that disturbing line of thought. That was stuff for the O5 Council to talk about. "What do you propose as a cover for having me around?"

"You work here at Beacon as a Special Combat Professor."

Ozpin took a long, _long_ sip from his mug.

Mutare just stared at him. "Really?"

"Hmm?"

"The job title. _Really_?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

"I'm sure you don't," Mutare said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll contact my superiors and put forward your suggestion, but don't expect much. 'We die in the dark so that others can live in the light,' as some of the other personnel like to say. Revealing things about ourselves, even to a group as small as yours, might be more than the bosses are willing to do."

"Still, I thank you in advance for trying," Ozpin said, undeterred. "And if it helps our case at all, mention that even if you can't reveal all to the students, you training them with your own experiences in mind will at the very least _begin_ to prepare future Huntsmen and Huntresses for the possibility of encountering these anomalous objects in the future."

"I'll keep that in mind. Well, I've got one hell of a call to make. So, if that's everything for now …"

"Yes, that's all I wanted to discuss for the time being. Look after yourself, Mr Wallflower. I hope you return with good news."

"For what it's worth, Professor Ozpin, so do I. I'll be seeing you."

Mutare stood up and left.

* * *

Mutare made the call when he got back to the motel.

It went about as Mutare expected. He put forth Ozpin's request, reasoning and all, and was simply told it would be passed on to the bosses for consideration. After that call was made, he decided he would try to contact an old friend who lived near Vale. He was a friend from Mutare's Beacon days who he hadn't spoken to in a few years, which was down to his job being rather unforgiving in terms of work hours, even when compared to Huntsmen and Huntresses.

**Hey. I'm in Vale. Care to meet and catch up?**

The text was short and to the point, much like Mutare's usual speech patterns. It wasn't all that long before he got a response.

**Hey man, good to hear from you. Your timing sucks, though. I'm kinda busy atm. How long will you be in Vale for?**

Mutare typed out a reply.

**Not sure. The more likely case is that I'll be leaving tomorrow, but there's a chance I'll be here for the foreseeable future. I'll tell you when I know for sure.**

A few moments later, another message came through.

**Okay. Here's hoping you'll be here a while. It's been ages.**

Mutare sent a brief message of agreement, then he put his scroll on the bedside table and laid down. With nothing else to do, he laid there until he drifted off into a light, restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some slight concerns that Mutare might come off as weak at points. He isn't. He works for the Foundation and is trying to be as subtle as possible, so throwing 1360 through the whole warehouse was out of the question. He could have done it, but that would have drawn unnecessary amounts of attention. You'll see him go bigger when he gets into fights that he can afford to be seen in.
> 
> There is a poll regarding the pairing on my FanFiction.net profile. I'm having a bit of trouble making that decision myself. I'd appreciate it if you'd go vote on it. My username is Anime PJ, same as on here, just without the underscore.


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